


There is a tree

by Poljupci



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Poetic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 20:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15915270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poljupci/pseuds/Poljupci
Summary: It's the only thing that matters and with the shadow of safely covering their bodies, Draco can finally see it.





	There is a tree

There is a tree in a world of thunder. Just one lost boy and the spirits that drag across the earth, across the grass that sparkles with the morning dew. His hair is golden in the light which paints his skin so warmly, his eyes are filled with a reflection of the heavens above. A shudder passes in his heart and a smile erases the heavy burdens of his troubled past. The drowsy wildflowers are catching in his cuffed jeans and his fingers are brushing through high grass that rolled the safety over the meadow.

His walk is slow, patient; all of his worries being buried deeper into the damp soil, his soul stretching into the air around him, blooming at the sight of love in his eyes. There is no path to be followed but it isn't of such importance. Without even lifting his eyes in some unusual hights, Draco can see the purpose of his visit.

The tree hunkers low to the serene place as if it wants nothing more than to be sheltered by the tall grasses waving golden in the soft, periwinkle breeze. Its branches fan out wide, separating from each other like the petals of a blossom only a metre or so from the ground that still lays in the last traces of fog. Draco believes that is the sole reason they loved it so much.

Because rarely, when the laughter overtook their mind and the chuckles spilt in a bittersweet taste when they laughed because of the aching that was everpresent in the top of their ribcages, when they wished to forget the pain if only for a little while, they still knew where to go.

It is easy enough even without the magic - all you have to do is push yourself on the lowest of the branches, put your left foot up and  then you can easily repeat those steps until you reach the highest of the treetops that already mixes in with the cotton candy clouds that are usually blushing with the sunsets of late summer. 

Up there, with their buts uncomfortable on bumpy, wobbly branches of a century-old sycamore tree, it feels like it is youth that rushes through their veins, a paradise in liquid form. Together, with their hands holding tight onto one another, they stretch upwards and outwards toward the light, drinking in rays as pure as rain. They stretch their arms along with the branches that tangled with the sky, their fingers spread toward the sun and then slowly, ever so slowly, they begin to dance.

It feels better than flying -  lying in the grass and sitting in the branches and kissing him. Draco knows that it can't be all that exciting. But when they kiss on the top of the world, in the high security of their tree, Draco feels like floating.

So, accordingly, they would float and soar and fly and melt. They would spin and swirl and mix and blend in. Charcoal strands of Harry's hair twisting and intertwining into the curtains of the universe, the silver of Draco's eyes pouring into the distant galaxies, the echoes of their laughter falling through black holes of reality and their hearts pulsating at every second with the dying stars.

They would kiss and make fireworks, moan and make new planets. They would stare into the sun and see, finally see the bending of time, the illusion of the real, the magic in the tiny sparks of energy that would crack between them when they touched. They would see the shining love and foggy hate, muddy sorrow and cold, rainy days of grief. They would see the endless blackboard of creation on which the dust of chalkdust feelings had no significance at all.

It is easier than he ever thought it would be. Losing the ticking seconds is the easiest thing in the world when Draco has Harry next to him.

Harry's voice is soft when he greets him and his laugh is warm when Draco hugs him, letting them fall into the feather-soft nest of picknick blankets and old, torn pillows. The kisses are short and sweet as ripe strawberries, the touches tender as the finest of silks and velvets.

The world stills as it sometimes tends to do when their bodies are one and the same and their heartbeats are pressed together. It is not an easy thing to understand, Draco has to admit. Love is something he grew to know as an intricate pattern of moments and special seconds when your heart was swelling up in your chest and your brain felt all tingly and colourful. Love is something Draco never thought he could experience.

Love is Harry.

So right then, in the still of a moment, a picture of love, with his words gentler than any other, when breath tickles Harry's lips and his soul is beaming with pure, concentrated happiness, he can't imagine waiting for a second longer to tell him. He then does.

He tells him the only thing that would ever matter. The only word that would always feel too light and too heavy on his tongue. But the smile is worth it. And he knows. He knows that Harry feels it too. He can feel that they share the same exceptional experience that you can only feel once and then forever. He tells him and then he tells him again, now and then, always and forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to leave kudos/comments if you liked it and check my other work if you have some free time :)


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